


The Eyes of the Man

by PinkySwear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, He's going to romance you or kill you, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkySwear/pseuds/PinkySwear
Summary: The army of owls tottering in the sky in a speed that could be called nothing but impressive. And the gallon of creepily dressed men having waving to them in a quite pretentious manner.It was a long time ago and – in Magdalene’s opinion – a damn right time for something similar – at least in its unusualness – to happen again.But when she finally got her wish, she wasn’t even aware of it. Passing the street of Privet Drive, she had temporarily laid her eyes on someone not only unusual, but also quite brilliant and scary in their excellence. And yet she did that involuntary. To the point of being almost rude.Voldemort might not be able to see into Dursleys' house, but what in the world stops him from sitting on a bench of one Privet Drive, calmly waiting for Harry Potter to come back fromgrocery store- just for an example?And then there's Magdalene Crawford as well - a shout out to OC's, because apparently sometimes they're needed - a very muggle journalist that's just a little too curious for her own good.





	1. The Eyes of the Man on the Bench

Today’s breeze was slightly out of tune. At times, sun shone so brightly it could almost blind the eyes of a casual walker; with its beam it gave warmth, which was only a little bit hotter than it should have been to make one feel comfortable. In other moments, each of the source of light almost fully hid behind the gloomy clouds, leaving one to deal with a dreary atmosphere and a chilly wind.

It could be almost a perfect combination, a win-win situation, but Magdalene Crawford found herself feeling rather annoyed. It was not visible on her face vividly – no obvious distaste there – but it could become quite obvious if you gave her face a closer look. To do so, you would have to approach her uncomfortably – almost rudely – close and no one, thankfully, bothered enough to actually commit such an offence.

However, if such a daredevil existed, they would soon discover her eyebrows to be slightly furrowed and the corners of her lips being turned down in an almost unnoticeable, but still existing manner.

She had a reason for her distaste – at least that could be assured.

When the sun attacked fiercely with its brightness, she felt her hair getting quite damp with sweat. And then, only after she had managed to fix it presentable, the wind would blow, ruining all her work and leaving her to feel quite vexed.

Magdalene was a journalist in the local newspaper called – quite sprightly and undeniably accurately – “Little Whinging for Today”. It might not have been the most exciting job one could have ever imagined to do, but it sometimes proved itself to be fairly satisfying. Only from time to time did she longed for discovering a truly stirring topic that would not only be on people’s minds for a fair share of time, but maybe also get a part in TV news. Now, _that_ would be a real deal.

It did happen a few times, or so she has heard. One of the corridor walls in the office still proudly presented the article that had become quite of a phenomena. While it may have not been the thrill she sought for, fifteen years ago it had been spoken about rather feverously.

The army of owls tottering in the sky in a speed that could be called nothing but impressive. And the gallon of creepily dressed men having waving to them in a quite pretentious manner.

It was a long time ago and – in Magdalene’s opinion – a damn right time for something similar – at least in its unusualness – to happen again.

But when she finally got her wish, she was not even aware of it. Passing the street of Privet Drive, she had temporarily laid her eyes on someone not only unusual, but also quite brilliant and scary in their excellence. And yet she did that involuntary. To the point of being almost rude.

 _Now,_ that _you don’t see everyday_ , she thought to herself, while eyeing the man. 

He was sitting on a bench, one leg crossed over another in a very nonchalant manner. There was a newspaper in his hands – _‘Little Whinging for Today’_ , she noticed, feeling quite proud of herself – in which he seemed strictly engrossed with. He didn’t appear to be old. He might have been in his early thirties at most, but there was something uncanny in his face that made him look a little – if not much – older.

It was late afternoon and he was sitting there as carefree as you could possibly imagine. It was a rare sight for someone enjoying their free time in such a calm manner. He looked as if there were nothing he could be hurrying to and in an adult world it was a visual almost impossible if not inappropriate.

It wasn’t that she was feeling especially chatty, but sometimes she liked inviting people that she saw reading the newspaper she wrote for, for a little conversation. And if she caught them scrolling through the article that she, herself, had written… Now _that_ was an ego buster!

There was also another factor, for she had never before seen this man in the area that she’s lived in for quite a long amount of time.

 _Two birds with one stone_ , she had thought, _and with a little bit of a luck, he wouldn’t mind me disturbing him._

She approached the man with a smile on her face, but while he must have noticed her coming, he didn’t bother raising his eyes to meet hers. He was still leisurely reading the article, not caring about her scrutinity.  

Or, to be frank, it looked as if he was simply ignoring her.

Magdalene cleared her throat, feeling her boldness disappearing faster than she would like it to, but nevertheless didn’t back down from the unspoken challenge.

“Ah, hello… Good morning. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The man eventually looked at her and every possible emotion in his eyes said that _yes_ , she was in fact being quite bothersome.

And yet it wasn’t the annoyance that caught her attention at first. There was something else that made her feel quite taken aback. The man wasn’t looking at her with exasperation, but with a slight resignation instead. As like a parent would look at a child that kept on insisting for them to come and play. Having enough of their nagging, they would eventually agree and then their faces would become akin to what was happening in the eyes of the stranger.

But somehow, the comparison didn’t feel quite right. It was nothing like a parent looking at a stubborn child, Magdalene decided, but rather as a human would glare at the perplexing dog or a bug. Yes, that was the way the man looked at her. With an uncanny wonder of the fact that someone in the world could be so audacious, so _impudent_ to actually interrupt him reading.

Or maybe she was looking too much into things. Maybe she was simply too sensitive for her own good – the factor that she liked to call artistic. Whatever the reality was, she already regretted approaching the man. And he hasn’t even said anything yet.

The man blinked, the surprising apprehension that she had seen in his eyes just seconds ago faded with the movement, instead being replaced with a guarded – and somehow forced, if she were to judge – mellowness.

“But of course not. May I help you in any way, miss?”

The smile on his face was perfectly polite, but it wasn’t even on its way to reach his eyes.

“Well… I saw you reading the newspaper and… Maybe that was silly, I agree, but, you see, I’m the one in the charge of the column that…” She dared to peek in the article he was reading, “That you’re reading right now. I was curious if you liked the article, so I’ve thought I’d come over and ask.”

The man looked at her, his eyes travelled from her boots to the very top of her head. He was clearly judging her the same way she’s just done it to him, but while her appraise came from curiosity, his seemed to quickly fade into distaste.

“You work on this newspaper. How curious. And you write articles? You say you _like it_?”

The man turned out to be more chatty then she had previously suspected, but his words – even if splendidly courteous – held some offensive undertones.

“Yeah, I _do_ like it,” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Is that so surprising? Did you _not_ like the article? You didn’t need to, of course, but…”

“As I have already stated, I find it quite curious. But if you enjoyed writing this article, does it really matter if I like it or not?”

His voice was kind, but he looked at her as if he thought she was really stupid. Not silly-behaving, but actually dumb.

As for Magdalene, she was seconds to putting her hands on her sides in a very angered manner.

“I’d say so. I love writing, but I also do it for other people to enjoy.”

“How chivalrous. The money you get from it must be a real bother then.” The man raised his eyebrow in a mocking way

But his voice was still softer than the most delicate scrap of velvet.

Magdalene almost lost her nerves on that, but somehow managed to stop herself. She only sighed deeply, shaking her head.

“Look, sir. All I asked was if you like the article, I didn’t mean to bother you, truly. If you want me gone, then just say so.”

Because leaving on her own would be as if admitting defeat, her subconscious screamed.

“Now, _that_ would be rude.” The look on the man’s face turned into a surprising show of anger.

As if the mere suspect that he might have committed the offense of being impolite was the blow to his pride.

“Or honest. How it differs depending on the point of the view, doesn’t it?” Magdalene shrugged. “But if you don’t wish to tell me that I’m being an annoyance then I, of course, don’t mind it. I’d actually prefer it.”

The man’s eyes became somewhat examining on her words. He was looking at her, as if he couldn’t assess her. Like he would aspect a puppy that learned it shouldn’t poop in the house in the matter of one day.

Because that was something people liked to call a miracle.

But then he lost the interest again and his eyes came back to the newspaper.

She shifted from one leg to another. Seeing as he treated her, she should probably leave him alone. That was the only thing to do if she wanted to save her face. But she found the man interesting and for some reason she felt reluctant to leave.

Besides, he was quite attractive. Only in his looks, obviously, because his personality was quickly proving itself to be rather horrendous and ugly.

And yet it still didn’t change the fact that he was probably the most handsome man she had ever met.

And while she prided herself on not being easily – or at all – fooled by someone’s pleasing appearance, she was _still_ a single woman, who couldn’t help but stare mouth agape.

“Do you live here?” She blurted after a minute.

The man looked slightly perplexed by her question. As if he couldn’t believe that she dared to bother him again.

“I’m visiting.” He said, eventually.

“Visiting? Oh, must be why I’d never seen you here before. Who’re you visiting, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The man blinked again. The manoeuvre should not be this shocking seeing as it was common for not only humans, but also many other species of animals, but he did it in a way that was fairly peculiar. Slower than most as if he expected for the oddity before him to vanish the next time he opens his eyes.

But she was still there and was looking at him expectantly, though the friendly smile on her face disappeared the moment he opened his mouth for the first time.

His lips thinned into the line as if he really didn’t want to answer her. He must have not think about a good reason not to, though, because he reluctantly said.

“Dursleys.”

There was something in his tone that she couldn’t deduce. He said it both gravelly and with amusement in his voice. A rather weird combination that was.

“Dursleys?” She furrowed her eyebrows again.

She knew Dursleys, or rather knew _about_ them. The family consisted of parents and two children, while the thinner one was not one of their own.

 _Harry Potter_. She knew this name, seeing that there was a time when it appeared in neighbourhood gossips very frequently. Some of them called him a poor boy – he did lose his parents in a car accident, after all – and the other ones a scrawny, troublesome kid. Magdalene had passed him on a street only a few times and it was too little to give her a chance to create an opinion about the boy of her own. Lately she’s been seeing him less and less and for some time she thought that maybe something bad happened to him. She even asked Petunia Dursley about it, when she once bumped into her in a grocery store. The thin woman paled visibly hearing the question and quite cryptically told her that Harry is now a student of a boarding school. And then she swiftly changed the topic, while boring her about the new ways of seeding flowers she’s about heard about on some TV programme.

Petunia Dursley tried very hard to be an exemplary neighbour and her husband wasn’t far behind her in his efforts. He was always the first one to say ‘Good morning’ and even tilted his head in a respectful manner, while greeting someone.

Magdalene knew better, though. There _was_ a time she’d actually seen him kicking the cat strolling by the kerb. He was muttering under his nose, going all red on his face from sustained anger. What was the reason for his aggravation, she did not know, but the act of his unexplainable aggressiveness was a resident in her wary mind since then.

 _I didn’t know Dursleys had friends_ , she was about to say. _A lot of acquaintances, maybe, business partners too. But friends? Rarely anyone visits their house._

And if anyone ever did, they certainly weren’t one of their neighbours. There was a gossip circling around Privet Drive, that there was something weird happening in Dursleys’ house. No one knew what, though, and so none of them actually believed the rumour.

But everyone kept it in mind.

“Do you know them?”, the man raised his eyebrows, for the first time looking at her with interest.

“I wouldn’t say _know them_ exactly. I’ve only talked to them for a few times and I’ve lived here for some time now.”

“You _live_ here?”

Now, _there_ was definitely some irrepressible curiosity in his voice.

“I do. It’s a nice area to live in, I’ll have you known.” For some reason she felt the need to defend herself. All of the things the man said possessed an equivocal tone in them.

The man nodded, now staring at her blatantly. There was something weird in his eyes as if he was strongly contemplating something.

“Why are you sitting on the bench in front of their house? Did they kick you out?” She tried for a joke, but he didn’t seem to appreciate it.

“I like the breeze of the wind on my face, when I read.” He said after few seconds of looking at her the way that could easily pass for a glare.

“Well, I understand that… I guess…” She answered, because she couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

The man made a weird noise. It was silent and contained, but still sounded offensively similar to a snort.

“I am actually here to visit their nephew, Harry Potter.”

His voice was perfectly conversational, but the way he watched her was so studious that it meant he was clearly waiting for something.

Magdalene blinked in surprise. It was definitely something new and unexpected – _someone visiting Harry Potter_. The boy had to be about fourteen, maybe fifteen right now, and it was the first time she’s heard about him having any acquaintances.

“Oh, so you’re related to him? I thought… I mean, I’ve heard that Durlseys were his only family.”

The corners of the man’s lips turned up slightly and yet there was nothing in his eyes that was cheerful. The slight smirk that appeared on his face was more of a sight of a wry amusement.

“I have known Harry for a long time. So long that he probably doesn’t even remember our first meeting.”

“You probably knew his parents, then. I know it’s technically been a long time, but I suspect a pain of a loss is the one to fade, but never disappear, right?”

Under his stare she could almost feel herself burn. His gaze was intent and his lips were stretched in an unnatural and grotesque manner.

“Yes,” He stretched the word making it sound almost like a hiss of a snake. “The death of James and Lilly Potter was a true blow. Really devastating. It took me years to get over it and become myself again.”

There was something so insinuating in his voice – something that she couldn’t understand no matter how hard she tried – that she found it difficult to sympathize with him. Some might think of it a terrible and atrocious reaction, but the expression on the man’s face made her squirm in uncomfortableness.

“I’m glad that you’re better now, then.” She offered hesitantly, not being sure whether it was a right thing to say.

“Thank you. I’m glad for it too.” Both an answer and a smile were bizarrely polite.

The aura that surrounded the man was a combination of weirdness and appeal, making her stretch the conversation for this long, but she suddenly felt the strong urge to leave. As if she were to talk to him more, she would choke on her breath, making it strangle her throat until her very own death. Her body shook slightly, even if the weather was still perfectly warm and she swallowed, wanting to burrow the strange sensation.

“I…Ah, I think I should go now. All of the sudden I don’t feel too well, maybe… I was bothering you for too long. I’m truly sorry for that.” She said, her voice trembling slightly.

Almost as if her words were not coming from her mind, but were forcefully ripped out from her mouth against her will.

The man didn’t even blink and the smile didn’t disappear from his face as well. He also didn’t look much surprised of her hasty wish to leave.

“And I’m Magdalene Crawford. I’m sorry I hadn’t introduced myself earlier,” There was something else she wanted to say, but she lost the thought before it acquired its define shape. “I’ll be going now. Goodbye.”

Maybe it would be a polite thing to do – wait for him to reveal his name back, but the sudden urge to leave was too strong for her to fight it. The neediness to go home had been the only thought that occupied her mind until she safely reached it. And when the door closed behind her, she could finally think clearly again – the memory of the man fading quickly from her brain, becoming a forgotten memory.


	2. The Eyes of the Man Smiling

It was eight days ago that Magdalene met the strange man. And although he – being as weirdly interesting as he was – should have left some kind of an impression on her, she did not remember him at all.

When she came back home on that improbable day, she did have a feeling that something uncanny had happened and yet she could not recollect it no matter how hard she had tried. The feeling of a forgotten, but a seemingly important memory kept nagging her for some time, but she had eventually let it go. She had concluded that it was impossible for it to be this significant, for she had no remembrance of it as far as she was concerned.

The memory had vanished from her mind as if magically removed.

But even though she had no actual recollection of the encounter, it still did not change the fact that it _had been_ a very momentous day for her. The one of an importance that changed lives – of a significance that one would have a great deal of trouble imagining.

For precisely eight days she had lived in an peaceful oblivion. If only she had known how much was to change, she might have appreciate the peacefulness far more than she actually had.

On Thursday, just a few days after calendar changed to July, she was walking back home again. Just as she has been doing for some years now – with a calm, but lively stride. But then she saw someone whose appearance again – just like these eight days ago – could be described as annoyingly ordinary.

 _Little did she know_ , one could have thought.

A lanky boy was walking in her direction. He was quite short and thin and the impression of his frailness was only enlarged by the clothes he was wearing – they were clearly too big for him. He _dwarfed_ in them. They seemed to swallow him and then spit him out, leaving him looking pale and miserably spent.

 _Harry Potter_. She immediately recognised him.

She had not seen him for some time now – _two, three years? Or maybe it’s been five already?_ – but he changed quite a bit. Last time she saw him, he was a little boy – much smaller than he should have been considering his age. Still, few years might have passed, but he was still a kid. A little older, few inches taller and with his face more defined, but a kid nevertheless. And he still hunched his back when he walked.

 _It must be a subconscious move of an instinct protection he does_ , Magdalene decided. 

She thought he looked rather pale. His face was almost white with terrifyingly visual bags under his eyes that shrieked a serious lack of sleep or tremendous sickness.

And that was when she remembered. It took her only one gaze on the face of Harry Potter, when the memory of a strange man she met eight days ago came back running to her mind. It was as if it was locked and the mere presence of Harry Potter freed it from its chains. The impact was so huge that she stopped her walk and shook slightly, feeling a little unsteady on her feet. She closed her eyes, sensing a strong headache coming. It was not immediate, but quite slow as if it was giving her time to get used to the pain. It could have been saw as a sign of kindness, but she knew it foretold a great migraine in the evening.

 “Excuse me ma’am, are you alright?”

It was the voice of Harry Potter that shook her from her daze and when she opened her eyes it was like nothing happened. The memory of the man was now stabile in her mind as if it had never disappeared. She also had no recollection of ever forgetting it as well. As improbable as it sounds.

“Yes, yes, of course, I… Ah, just a little headache. It’s a hot day, you see. But I’m alright now, thank you for asking.”

He did not look very convinced and still regarded her with worry in his eyes. It was only a matter of seconds that Magdalene decided that Harry Potter was an admirably nice boy.

“I live close by, so even if I’m about to faint, it’s going to be on the sofa.” She joked.

It was truly a sad thing how underappreciated her sense of humour was. After hearing her words, Harry Potter’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Just kidding, just kidding. I’m truly alright.” She laughed. “Off I go. Have a nice day.”

He reciprocated the pleasantries and was about to renew his walk, when the question popped in her mind. Years of working as a journalist only encouraged her inquisitiveness and so without a shame of being nosy she asked:

“You’re Harry Potter, aren’t you? Dursleys’ nephew?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” The boy nodded, probably wondering about the goal of her question.

“I thought so,” She smiled warmly. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You probably don’t remember me, don’t worry about it. I’m Magdalene Crawford. Last time I saw you, you had to be about eleven. You were running somewhere, now I remember. I’ve no idea where to, though.” She stopped for a second, collecting the memory. “Oh! I remember! There was also your cousin and his friends. I think you were playing tag.”

For a second Harry Potter looked as if he gnawed on a very sour lemon, his expression turning almost grotesque. He looked as if he  were to say something – he even opened his mouth – but clearly thought otherwise, seeing that he quickly closed it and sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

“It was a long time ago, ma’am, I wouldn’t remember as well.”

“Hmmm… Well it’s not that I wanted to talk about it anyway. Excuse me my curiosity, but…” She hummed again. “Last week I saw a man sitting in front of your house, a relative most probably, seeing that it’s exactly what he said. He was waiting for you, said he came with a visit. It was…” She narrowed her eyebrows, remembering the peculiar feeling the man elicited in her heart.

The curiosity, apprehension and only a little bit of fear combined with an unerring attraction. She thought about telling the boy about it, but decided against it. She did not want him to take an offence. The man _was_ a part of his family, after all.

“I chatted with him for a while,” She said eventually. “Not for a long time, so I didn’t have a chance to learn his name, I only wondered if you managed to see him or… I don’t really know why I’m asking you this. You must probably think I’m very nosy.”

The more she spoke, the more Harry Potter’s eyebrows furrowed. At first, it was only a slight distortion of his forehead to finally become a very grand frown.

He looked completely confused. And her rambling was only a part of it.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, ma’am,” He said. His polite tone now held a tinge of caution. She saw it vividly when looking at his startlingly green eyes. “My uncle and my aunt, and Dudley of course, are my only family. I  have no one else,” These words were very sad, indeed, but the acceptation of it, he’d learned many years ago, was even sadder. “There must’ve been a mistake. Maybe you’ve understood him wrong.”

Magdalene thought about it for a second. There could be a chance for it, but she was unmistakably sure she remembered every word the man said to her

– how ironic comparing to the state from only minutes ago that she was not aware of it at all.

In the disquieting mystery he made, there was no possibility for her to forget about him – it was what she believed. At least not for a very, very long time. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was my mistake.” She recoiled eventually, seeing the uneasiness her questions invoked in Harry Potter. His face paled, which was combined with the widening of his eyes that lost their mesmerizing colour to become alarmingly hollow. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. Have a nice day, so I wish you again.”

Harry Potter nodded, reciprocated the pleasantries – _again_ , for it was a polite thing to do – and continued on with heading his way. The too large for him shirt was flapping in the wind, making him look as a scarecrow trying to survive through a very bad day.

Magdalene immediately scolded herself for such a rude and unnecessarily offensive comparison, but still watched the boy until he disappeared behind the corner of the bakery. He must have felt her watchful gaze, seeing that his walk was faster than the one of an indolent stroller and his shoulders were stiff as if he expected a sudden attack or at least something of that sort. The last thought made quite of a disturbing visual and Magdalene shook her head. Harry Potter was a normal and only slightly too thin boy. He was most probably freaked out over her weird questions. That was the reason of his agitation – there was no argument about it. There was nothing to be worried about.

But there was also _nothing_ Magdalene could do to stop a sudden worry blossoming in her chest, creeping upright towards her throat and gripping it in a more and more clenching manner.

She renewed her walk herself, thinking about the possibilities and only sometimes mocking herself for an overactive imagination.

The man could have been a postman waiting to deliver a package, seeing that none of the Dursleys were home. It would be a serious over-interpretation of the task entrusted to him, but it still made a fairly rational explanation. He could have not been related to the Dursleys at all and was simply humouring her, sensing her starve for a sensation.

In the calming glory of new possibilities, her mind wandered.

He could have been a drug dealer – no matter how much he did not look like it – waiting for a victim of their weak minds. Her could have been an escaped convict, deciding that the best form of hiding is not to hide at all – pretending that everything is alright would not solve the problem, but it sure would make it seem solved in the eyes of the observer.

He could have been a serial killer – imbibing ecstasy from taking people’s lives and having just recently decided that Harry Potter is a great choice for the next target.

It was ridiculous, thinking about it, Magdalene realized it fully, but she could not help herself. All the man did, was to sit on the bench that she happened to pass on her way home. It could have been completely random, but she could not shake the feeling of an undiscovered obviousness.

Or maybe she could not let it go, because she still remembered the patronizing look he regaled her with – the look given by the eyes of the most handsome man she had ever seen.

But she did not feel attracted to him – not even slightly.

And it is not as if she would admit to it, even if the truth was indeed quite the opposite.

She was to never see him again, so there clearly was no sense in wondering about it anymore. She was fully aware of it, but her brain was not the one to listen obediently, but to stomp its feet in an implacable fervor. Unceasingly it planted the vision in front of her eyes – the face of the man so sophisticated to the point of being creepy.    

She lifted her head – most probably to offhandedly look around her surroundings as it would be encouraged while walking, at least from time to time – and then she stopped dead in her tracks; so suddenly that in a ridiculous hastiness it almost knocked her off her feet.

There, just across the street, right in front of the Privet Drive number 3, _there_ he was.

It was no hallucination, no creation of Magdalene’s wishful or apprehensive mind – the strange man was standing there, looking as dashing and frightful as he did those eight days ago. At first she was not sure if he recognized her or even saw her – all because of his eyes that dared to be focused on something else entirely, rather than the vision that was her. In fact, he was looking in the direction she has just come from. His gaze was trailing the movement of the mark she did not know, but there was something in his expression – thin lips turned into a sneer, while eyes shining with a light of sick happiness – that made her look back, disoriented. There was nothing to be seen, though, or at least nothing that – in Magdalene’s opinion – could have invoke such mixed emotions.

And yet they chilled her to the bone, the light pressure of the wind suddenly punishing her skin with its coolness. She shook slightly and then repeated the motion with a sharp shake of her head.

 _Keep it together, Crawford. You’re overactive imagination is making you crazy. A real_ loco _if aiming for a tune. And not in an attractive way. Just keep walking. Nothing to see here._

She said so to herself and then actually followed with some begin of a movement, but whatever step she was about to take, it got lost in an unexpected feeling of dread.

The eyes of the Strange Man – as she probably should refer to him with capitals now – shifted. Coming from its unnerving focus, they fixated on something else – _someone_ she could relate to so strongly that she knew the mark without a second of doubt.

There was something frightening in his gaze, in the depth of darkness of his eyes, that somehow ceased to resemble the ones of a human anymore. At first his face showed nothing but a perfect mask of a carefully held blankness she was well accustomed to, but then something horrendous happened that caused her heart to jump suddenly and so painfully, she gasped for air, having trouble to breath in a routinely expected pace.

It must have been her imagination – _it_ _had to be_ – she told herself later, when she thought about it in the safety of her house and yet now she froze so entirely that for a second she doubted if she was ever to move again.

Just for one second and quicker than a blink of an eye, the handsome features of the Strange Man lost all of their appeal. It was as if some gruesome demon took a possession of them, making them a poor excuse of a human’s face – having it cracked and stretched in an unnatural show of almost animalistic in its cruelty expression.

He was smiling, Magdalene realized soon after, smiling right at her, his eyes not blinking even once, while the seconds passed. And it was as if he was baring his teeth at her, mocking her with the widest grin she had ever seen.


End file.
